Curses
by abodo
Summary: read it as you will.


Everyone has their curse, everyone has their problems. Memories that should be left unburied, skeletons that knock from the closet no matter how much you cover your ears. Those things are what we seek, and yet those things are what we run from. Conflict, drama, tears and laughter. The borderline between hope and despair, that place we call amusement. People can be so cruel when they can't see beyond what's in front of them.

The Hua family has never been a clan to note. Chinese descent, they are industrious folk of the middle class. Problems on the mainland had forced them overseas to Japan. There, they lived moderate lives. Able to afford food, drink, shelter. It wasn't a bad life. In fact, one could say it was happy. But is that really happiness? To share a meal with the family but not knowing if there's a meal tomorrow night? To sleep under a roof that threatens to crush you in its weight in mortgages? For all those little happiness, it's human nature to be dissatisfied. It's difficult to be comfortable and say "I'm glad to be alive" when anxiety fills you about "tomorrow". That's why when the IS boom hit, the mother of the Hua family saw it as a chance. The mainland was calling back all females of ages between 12 to 35. They were promised first class citizenship with the highest quality of life waiting them upon their return. No more debts, no more fears, no more anxieties. Today and tomorrow were secured. But the price for those things was "yesterday". The happiness that existed in the past was no more. The mother that only wanted the best for her daughter, the father that wanted his child to know what happiness should be like. In the end, what should the child choose? What can the child understand? Ofcourse she understood nothing. All the words thrown her way were just noise. So she shut it out, she shut them out, both of them. The Hua family are by no means extravagant nor were they oppressed, just a family torn to pieces by kind wishes.

The Alcotts on the other hand were rich. They had money in spades. But happiness was not assured to them either. As someone who lives at the top, it's only natural that one's worth is decided by the ability to maintain success. But they couldn't, the family was destined to be torn apart. That destiny ws fought against and conquered by the matriarch. The mother succeeded where no one else could. She succeeded where the man who truly inherited the name had failed. She outshined her husband and instead of polishing himself he continued to tarnish further. To a child, the pillars of their early lives are their parents. Unease, insecurity, fear, worries. Even children feel such things. The daughter of house Alcott was no different. While she could not speak to her busy mother, she drew strength from that working figure, that tireless form that radiated strength. It was understood well. The daughter saw the father though and could see nothing but a husk. A man who had given up on everything but his own destruction. His own daughter grew to despise him, hate him, hate everything he was, what he represented and what represented him. Despite being born without problems of being provided for, the Alcotts were tormented by weakness. Their own weakness and the hatred of weakness whether their own or that of others. It was a house of arrogance that was fated for tragedy. One that left a twisted child as both heiress and orphan.

Dunois had neither problems of money. Sure they were losing funding, but it wasn't as if they would become poor. Their family also loved each other very much. Only, the patriarch had loved another. That's why she was born. The child herself was the curse. A curse that was supposedly buried without a chance to be unearthed. However the outside mother soon passed on, leaving the child with none other to turn to than her blood father. It was a decision filled with regrets and tears. One could probably still hear the echoes of screams of both sides. "Why?", "Why?", "Why?", "Why?". Why is that half-blood here? Why won't you talk to me father? Why are you alive when we left you for dead? Why won't you hold me as a father would his daughter? Why do you exist when such a thing is unwanted? Why did you approach my mother when we meant nothing at all? The house of Dunois was a house of passion, of family. And yet it were these traits that led to unhappiness.

Supersoldiers have no family. They have each other, born of the same series, born of the same vats. Their parents no more than petri dishes and steel wombs that birthed them. Manufactured for war, weapons in human form. What is happiness to them? The concept of humanity should not apply to a weapon but they were unmistakably human. If not there would be no tears, there would be no regrets. But there were tears, there were regrets. For a weapon, the meaning of their existence was to be used. But even such a thing was denied to them. they were obsolete, they were unwanted. No matter how they huddled together and reaffirm each other's existence, nothing would change. Theirs was a curse of exclusion.

Sarashikis have a long history of responsibility long have they protected the country of Japan so it's only natural that the best will lead the next generation. The best of the litter would be picked out and placed on the forefront. Each child forced to excel in everything until a winner could be selected. What is the point though? What does the victor gain? What does the defeated lose? A meaningless competition that only spurs feelings of dissatisfaction. It is only too late when we realize that it may be the winner who has lost something while the loser gains.

The Shinonono have always been a house of geniuses. Wether it was physical, mental or emotional, those born with the blood of Shinonono in their veins always had these in spades. So much so that it could be called monstrous, uncontrollable. They were beasts that could not be tamed. By nature or nurture eventually they would come into their own talents and wield them. While one honed her talents, placing herself in a cage of her own design, the other was forced to run in a set path, restlessness and impatience driving that natural wildness feral.

Ironically, perhaps the greatest curse lies with Orimura. The Orimuras were always skilled, all powerful in any field they dedicated themselves to. As with all families of power, it was also a family of tragedy. Just as the one that befell the parents and separated their children. The eldest was forced to become strong early on to protect the only reson left to her for living. The next was forced to grow strong to survive. However the last sibling held the most tragic fate. He did not grow at all. The Orimura were like swords, forever sharpened, forever wielded by others. Each one have their reasons but they eventually grew strong. But the young man did not find such a thing, rather he was denied finding such thing. A blade that has yet to be finished at the forge has no use. A sword that has no wielder has no reason to exist. But all swords are destined for the battlefield, just as the Orimuras are closely tied to tragedy. No matter how many guards will take the blow, no matter if the finest of blades should take its place in the field, that half-hammered slab of metal called a blade will surely reach battle.


End file.
